The Ugly Truth About Being ‘Too Nice’

I never say no.

Whether it’s an imposing favor or an insistent invitation, I couldn’t say it. Not that I don’t want to. It’s just that I don’t know how to without feeling like I’ve let them down.

I never speak up for myself.

Not because I’m scared, but because I don’t want people to feel like they have to be scared of me. I don’t want them to feel like I’m too sensitive.

I never say I’m too busy to listen or to just be a companion.

I don’t want them to feel alone. I always feel like maybe they have no one else to turn to. Even when I am busy and even if I am going through something myself, I don’t tell them. I don’t want them to feel like nobody cares about what they have to say or what they feel. I want them to feel like they matter.

I always make myself available.

I’m a call away. When they need me, I drop whatever it is I’m doing to try and help them, encourage them, and convince them that pain is temporary, that they’re strong, and that they’re not a burden.

I never get mad.

Even when I get offended, I always convince myself that there’s good inside the hearts of even the people that hurt me.

I forgive easily.

I don’t want them to feel like they have to do anything extraordinary to be forgiven because forgiveness is free and it restores peace, not only externally but also inside the depths of one’s heart.

I try to understand things from other people’s perspectives.

Things aren’t always what they seem. We never really know what a person is thinking. And truth is within a person’s frame of mind.

I get taken for granted.

Because I never say no, nobody really bothers to ask what I think about anything anymore. They contact me only when it’s convenient. And when their life picks up again, I get tossed aside.

Nobody asks if I’m okay.

They think that just because I don’t say anything, I’m okay — that I’m fine with everything. They think I can handle myself pretty well. They think I’m strong, but no. I’m weak. Whenever I’m down, I can’t imagine myself standing up again. They think I can manage, but no, I can’t.

I get disinterested replies when I need them.

I break down from time to time, but nobody cares enough to really listen. They pretend to be there for me but their mind is elsewhere. They tell me to get over it like it doesn’t matter. But it does. It’s drowning me and it sucks when they tell to just get over it. To stop crying.

I keep everything I go through to myself.

I don’t want to be the burden that I am. I don’t want them to carry the weight that’s holding me down. Because maybe they don’t want to. Maybe it’s too much for them because they have their own burdens to carry.

I get scolded for being a pushover.

But ironically, the people who scold me for being one are the very people who treat me like one. And they don’t even know it.

They think I can understand everything they throw at me.

No, I can’t stretch my patience and understanding too far. I’m not a superhuman. I could only endure so much.

One sorry fixes everything.

Yes. It fixes the conflict, but not the wounds. Not my heart. Every sorry is a scar that will always be with me for the rest of my life.

All my life, I’ve been trying to do what’s right — always trying to put other people’s needs over mine. Even if it hurt. Even if it still hurts.

I have cried so many times, but I always ended up doing the same thing over and over. I can’t just abandon the people that need me.

But then I realized, who’s going to fill up the holes in my heart before I run out of pieces trying to fix others? Who will save me from my own destruction?

I’ve always wanted to try to fix people. I never thought that in return, it would break me. I feel like I’m almost empty. I can barely feel anything anymore.

What will happen to me? Will anyone finally care? Will anyone bother to pick me up? Will anyone be there to lend me some of the pieces I gave away? Who will be there for me when I don’t have anything to give anymore?

I feel like I’m drowning in my own poison. I can’t breathe.

Can’t anyone hear my cries? Can’t anyone see it in my eyes? I’ve learned to fake happiness. But my eyes contain enough suppressed tears to give me away if anyone just bothers to take the time to look at them and ask.

Maybe all those things I do to other people are driven by hope — hope that someone deems me worthy enough to be heard, to be understood.

Because life beats me up too. Life is unfair to me too. And maybe, just maybe, I want to be loved as I love them. I want to be told that I matter. That I’m not just a burden.

All the things I say to other people are the words I want someone to tell me. I want to be told that my pain is also temporary, because I’ve never broken free from this pain. It feels permanent. It eats me up from the inside.

I want someone to make me feel like I’m more than just a pushover, that I am worthy. But how do I tell them that?

I am a pushover. But I hope someone remembers that I am human too. I am shattered, not just broken, and sadly, I’ve been burned by the very fire I tried to put out.